


silence in between

by littlehands



Series: no light, no light [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:31:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehands/pseuds/littlehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He knows she'll come, she always does. This slow dance she leads and he follows, they meet in the middle, in the silence and unspoken truths.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	silence in between

_you are the silence in between / what I thought and what I said_

He goes from corpse to corpse gathering arrows, covered in the dark slime that oozes from the alien soldiers. There are plenty of arrows back at the base, but it’s something he always does. Closing the cycle, filling his quiver for the next battle, the next doomsday. His back aches and his fingers are raw but every step, every arrow is a balm, a release.

His bunk on the carrier is spartan, clean and organized. He’s gotten better over the years, more room for personal things, less room for his gear. Postcards stuck in the mirror over the sink, a sweater draped over his desk chair, a tiny icon on the wall above the bed. The icon is hers, makes her feel safe, or something - she doesn’t talk in those sorts of terms anyway. 

He re-stocks and cleans arrows all night, hands moving without much thought, mind wandering though the replay of the last few days. There are still parts of the lost days that he can’t quite remember, fuzzy shadows and whispered commands. Trying to see every kill shot, every moment that he let loose an arrow and felt nothing.

Morning comes quietly and sudden, he’s sitting on the bed - still rumpled from the last time - waiting for something, anything to break the spell. He’s waiting for her. Waiting for her to come, snap him out of it, give him something to break and rebuild. He did the same for her after São Paulo; she beat him black and red, covered each bruise with a kiss until she broke. He swept up her tears and pain - carried them for her until she was strong enough to take them back. He knows she’ll come, she always does. This slow dance she leads and he follows, they meet in the middle, in the silence and unspoken truths.

Fury comes first, folder in hand. He’s been cleared for a surveillance mission, just need his eyes on a potential target. He nods, taking his bow from the wall, instinctively. Wheels up in 15 minutes, he’s pushing clothes and weapons into bags, pulling on his suit, still worn and burned from the last time. He’s halfway out the door, when the low dull panic sets in, the pain in his back spikes, but he walks out. 

A week later, still cold and stiff from days camped out in a unfinished high-rise, he walks back in. 

She in the bed, back against the wall, blanket bunched between her legs, curled in a tight ball. Her eyes open when his bag hits the floor, flutters shut again after meeting his. The unpacking can wait, same as the debrief he knows he’ll be late for, she’s here and that’s all he can see. He strips out of the suit, caked with ash and mud. She shifts in the bed, stretching then contracting her limbs, just watching him with half asleep gaze. 

Stripped down, he sits on the edge of the bed, reaches out slowly and strokes the skin of her calf. She smiles into the pillow, he crawls up the bed. He is a breath away from her, slides his fingers down her arms. She shivers and pulls him close, pulling his body against hers. Not saying a word, she lays a palm on his heart, lingers and then brings it to her lips. She doesn't have to say it, or anything at all. A simple gesture, a small kiss - he knows she understand. She hold him in her arms and he lets his eyes close. He feels her lips on his brow, feathery soft and she cradles him tight. 

They sleep in each others arms, grasping on for life, for something more.

**Author's Note:**

> I really didn't want to post this, it's so bad. Next one will be better. *headdesk* All errors are my own, I choose to blame the ipad.
> 
> Also, I'm kinda of messing with the timeline from the movie, I tinkered with in for my own pleasure.


End file.
